The "walk the cow" part, so familiar. Nice, about the ring. The forest attracts the most. Jumping into the arms of X. Been there, done that. They crossed at the last moment, like his name, gets me to thinking about that flame.

When I saw the shuttlecock, Nancy from Ford Madox Ford's "The Good Soldier" came into my head:

"Yes, society must go on; it must breed, like rabbits. That is what we are here for. But then, I don't like society--much. I am that absurd figure, an American millionaire, who has bought one of the ancient haunts of English peace. I sit here, in Edward's gun-room, all day and all day in a house that is absolutely quiet. No one visits me, for I visit no one. No one is interested in me, for I have no interests. In twenty minutes or so I shall walk down to the village, beneath my own oaks, alongside my own clumps of gorse, to get the American mail. My tenants, the village boys and the tradesmen will touch their hats to me. So life peters out. I shall return to dine and Nancy will sit oppositeme with the old nurse standing behind her. Enigmatic, silent, utterly well-behaved as far as her knife and fork go, Nancy will stare in front of her with the blue eyes that have over them strained, stretched brows. Once, or perhaps twice, during the meal her knife and fork will be suspended in mid-air as if she were trying to think of something that she had forgotten. Then she will say that she believes in an Omnipotent Deity or she will utter the one word "shuttle-cocks", perhaps. It isvery extraordinary to see the perfect flush of health on her cheeks, to see the lustre of her coiled black hair, the poise of the head upon the neck, the grace of the white hands--and to think that it all means nothing--that it is a picture without a meaning. Yes, it is queer. "

The girl in the Chardin picture stands in that moment, racket in hand, where Everything is Possible is the writing in the mind. Nothing is yet played out, promises yet to go rotten.

The poem is full of boy and girl energy. The ghost of Jonson's boy may be somewhere here.

I stared into the flame.It was a living fire.I liked the warmthwithstood snowy partsOf a hellish season.Flowers and all The workHad to be a challenge.I called to him To that boyHis exuberanceFlickered.